


painted on the sky

by runandgo



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Camping, Facials, Hair-pulling, Hiking, Love Bites, M/M, Rimming, Skinny Dipping, Tent Sex, Vacation, are those exclamation points excited or scared or shameful we’ll never know, author's first porn!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runandgo/pseuds/runandgo
Summary: A weekend off. A miracle. For the first time in months.Josh and Sam take in the wilderness on a break from campaigning in '98.





	painted on the sky

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty much just fluff and porn without much of a plot, so enjoy
> 
> title is from take me home, country roads by john denver because i'm a cliche sorry

A weekend off. A miracle. For the first time in months.

The campaign stopped in West Virginia, and Sam had been wound so tight he couldn’t sit still, nervous energy coming off him like waves as he tapped his pen on every available surface until CJ exploded at him. “Jesus Christ, Sam, can you put that goddamn thing away for one second? You’re driving everyone up the wall." 

He tried sitting on his hands but then his leg started going and even when Josh put a hand on his knee under the table, heavy and protective and _significant,_ Sam’s toe tapped inside his shoe. So Leo declared a weekend with the interns to do PR training with CJ and Toby and told Josh and Sam the magic words — “Take a break.” 

They’d left work sitting at their desks, coffee in their cupholders in the bus, to rush to the Enterprise and rent a car, drive to the Walmart and get a tent and some coolers and food. Now they’re driving down a winding road through the Blue Ridge Mountains, windows thrown open wide, and the air is so sweet and clear that it tastes like helium, like Sam could breathe in deep and fly away. 

Josh has the radio tuned to some country station and garbled snatches of the music pop through whenever they clear the tree cover enough. He’s driving slow, easy, one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of Sam’s neck, rubbing circles in the warm skin with his thumb. Occasionally he’ll hum along to the music if he knows the tune. Josh is pretty tone-deaf but Sam still loves to hear him rumble along, deep in his chest, with that smile on his face that throws the doors open and lets the light shine in. 

It’s still cold and early, about 10 am, when they stop for gas. There’s a shroud of mist floating over the surface of the mountains, shadowing the trees, and the morning sun is bright as Josh fills the car. He’s got a flannel shirt and a baseball cap and Sam can’t help but laugh as he fills two cups with oily coffee. Josh may be pulling the look off, but the second he opened his mouth it’d be so obvious that he grew up where people talk fast and the houses touch each other. 

Back in the car, they choke down the coffee and keep driving until they see a sign for a family campground. Sam pushes up the sleeves on his Duke sweatshirt and hands the friendly man behind the counter $40 for a night at a site with a raised platform and bathroom access — because they might be trying to rough it, but they’re not crazy. 

As he puts the cash in the register, the owner eyes Sam up and down. “You ever been camping before?” 

“I was a Boy Scout for 12 years,” Sam replies, a little offended, running a hand through his hair almost subconsciously. 

“Okay. I can tell you’re from out of town, is all.” He hands Sam a map with a site circled in red. “That’s you, 24. Straight down the road and turn left. It’s pretty empty this time of year, should be real quiet.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Yep. This building’s open till six, if you need anything else, gas, fire starters, whatever.” 

“And the trail access…?” 

“At the end of your row. It’s about a two-hour hike to the top, not too bad but be prepared to do some climbing. The view is worth it, I’ll tell you that.” He offers Sam a small smile. “Real romantic. You here with your girl?” 

Sam snorts before he can stop himself. “Uh, something like that, yeah.” It’s a strange mixture, the amusement and frustration he feels when people assume, and even though he knows it’s not in his best interests he wishes he could just say the truth for once and see what happens. See if the world really does end. 

That scrutinizing look from the man again. “Well, okay. Good fishing spots along there, too, they’re marked with signs, and it might be the last weekend that’s warm enough to swim, so. Lots to do. If you need anything, just holler.” 

“Will do,” Sam says, and walks out the door, shakes his arms out shoulder to wrist so his sleeves fall back down. He opens the passenger door and though he’s tempted to kiss Josh open-mouthed and filthy in front of the campground owner and God and the fucking chipmunks or whatever, he doesn’t. Just reaches a hand out the open window and bangs twice on the roof. 

Josh backs out with the crunching of gravel and they drive down the road to the little square patch labeled 24. There’s water rushing not too far away, somewhere behind the lush green undergrowth that will die soon with the first frost. A ring of rocks encircling a burnt-out ditch, a water pump, and the tent platform. It’s so quiet and still and perfect, the utter opposite of the hum of the air-conditioning on the bus and the rush of the press room. There’s no one else in this part of the campsite, no other tents on the platforms or cars pulled into the driveways, just them. 

Sam’s speechless and Josh notices, pulling the tent out of the back of the car and walking around to stand next to him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” He closes his eyes and smiles. “I needed this.” 

“No kidding.” Josh shrugs the bag over his shoulder and starts over to the platform. Quickly, Sam gathers their bags and follows. 

In an hour or two they’ve set up the tent, and they’re both a little frustrated and Josh was largely unhelpful but now they have a campsite. Sam’s bent over the back of the car, digging through his bag for his hiking boots, and yelps when Josh comes up behind him and slaps his ass. “Hey!” 

A smirk is the only answer he gets. “You about ready?” 

The answer gets stuck in Sam’s throat as he looks down to see Josh’s boots, which are for some reason pink. Luridly so. He’s ready to deliver a biting response when Josh blurts, “I borrowed them from CJ, okay, I don’t really go hiking.” 

There are just _so_ many different directions Sam could go, but he chooses to go with, “You and CJ wear the same size?” 

“Hey, she’s taller than me, and she’s taller than you too, so —“ Josh makes a rude gesture and Sam laughs. “Besides, are you… complaining?” He waggles his eyebrows. 

_That_ makes Sam snort, actually, and he covers his mouth in surprise and embarrassment. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” Josh presses a kiss to the side of Sam’s neck, quick as a flash and burning like one too, before sauntering back over to stretch against a large rock. He’s a hiking novice and it shows, he looks like he’s warming up for aerobics and his shorts are way too short, but Sam can’t help the smile that takes over his face as he laces his boots. He jerks his head towards the start of the trail, visible at the back of their campsite, just a gap in the trees marked by a garish yellow slash, and Josh follows him into the woods. 

They hike mostly in silence for the first twenty minutes until they break through the tree line to see a river, flowing and waterfalling down a shallow rocky incline, blackening the slate-grey shale and making it glisten in the dappled sunlight. 

Sam sucks in a breath, grin spreading across his cheeks, and Josh whistles. It’s not often that something renders them both speechless. An arm snakes around Sam’s waist and he leans back into Josh, loves the way his head fits right next to his boyfriend’s, loves the sounds of nature and the gentle breeze and the pure and simple beauty out here. 

As nice as it is, though, they can’t stay forever, so they eventually hike up along the incline of the water until it becomes a flat stream again. Rustling in the forest is occasionally audible, and once or twice Sam catches a chipmunk’s beady little eye as it darts below a tree trunk. It’s not until they’re panting and well and truly climbing up a big rock that Josh freezes at the top, Sam’s forearm still locked in his grip. “I’m gonna pull you up really slow, okay?” Josh says, quiet, calm. “There’s a deer, I don’t want to scare her away.” 

With one boost Sam’s up on top, kneeling on the rough stone, and he catches a glimpse of the white fluff of the deer’s tail bounding away into the shadows, leaving tracks in the silty ground.”You don’t get to see that in DC,” Josh says almost reverently, and he stands stock-still in the filtered light for a few seconds before continuing on. 

Time passes at some kind of rate. Sam’s not sure how, exactly; he couldn’t quantify it if he was asked. The world has mostly narrowed down to the path under him, and Josh in front of him through it all. He’s disconnected from his body — he can’t feel the ache in his calves, really, or the blisters that are definitely popping up on the cords in his ankles. All there is is dirt, and the next rock to climb, and the tandem breathing connecting the two men, climbing the mountain like it’d help them escape the reality they have to return to. 

And there is one last scramble up three rocks in a row, slipping hands and harsh breathing, and then they are stumbling with weak legs onto a soft bed of mulch and grass. There’s an empty parking lot up here for people who want the view, not the work. Josh walks over to a post and leans on it while Sam can’t even bother, just goes down on his back right into the green patch that welcomes him. They both rest, panting, until finally the world isn’t so dark at the edges, and Sam drags his protesting body over to stand by Josh. 

Obviously, the view is otherworldly. The trees are just tinged with the beginnings of fall, golden-yellow and rusty brown-orange and the brightest red melting into summer’s leftover green. Sam is a city boy through and through, but things like this make him understand the healing sweetness of the country. It makes him feel young and open, with all life’s possibilities stretched out and winding into the future like the blue stream that slips in and out of the forest below them. A wetness on his cheeks tells him that he’s crying, and he doesn’t have the words for why. Everything is in place. Like he’s right where the universe wants him to be. 

When he finally makes himself look away, Josh is staring at him, unabashed. There are no words for the beauty of this moment, of the weekend, of the soul-filling medicine of it all. 

It’s not clear who initiates it, but they’re kissing against the wooden fence meant to keep people from leaning too far over the edge. The posts press into Sam’s back and Josh’s hand is white-knuckled on the rough wood. He’ll get splinters later. It’s salty, tears and sweat, and the intensity is almost painful, like they’re trying to consume each other, to make every precious moment of these 48 hours worth it. 

Noise from the trail is what breaks them apart, and before the other hikers come over the last rock, Josh and Sam are sitting cross-legged on the grass, facing the outlook, sharing sandwiches wrapped in wax paper like kids at lunch at school. No hint of anything other than two guys hiking, normally, no romance involved. It kind of hurts Sam that they’ve gotten so good at pretending, and Josh’s tense posture as he drinks tells Sam that he feels the same. 

As soon as they finish, they start walking down the road, giving their legs a break. They follow the signs along a different trail once they find it, marked with red diamonds spray-painted on rough bark, until they come across another waterfall. This one goes right into a pool of water that’s cold enough to make Josh yell when he dips a toe in it, but they’re both sweaty and sticky and hot, so it can’t be worse than staying in the rapidly humidifying air. 

Sam peels his shirt off, then his pants, and finally his boots and socks, taking care to fold them and put them someplace where they wouldn’t get wet. He can feel Josh’s eyes on him, and he almost wants to preen a little, under the warm gaze roaming his shoulders and back and ass. 

His underwear come off last, and he doesn’t hesitate in jumping in. A splash behind him tells him that Josh has followed, but Sam can barely think about that. A million tiny needles of ice are prickling in his skin, wiping away all memories of heat and humidity. “Oh, shit,” he chatters, and swims over to Josh, who’s coming up closer to the waterfall. 

“Yeah.” They’re both shaking, treading water with a strange flow beneath their feet. The pond must feed out somewhere else. Their feet beat against each other, gently, and Sam buries his face in Josh’s neck half out of cold and half as an excuse to touch him, feel the warmth of him beneath his skin. 

With blue lips, they get out and walk around the edge of the pool behind the waterfall, and watch how the water forms a door dividing them from the rest of the world. There’s just them and the stone, wet and glistening with white rivulets on the walls showing where the water has flowed for generations. Now it’s Sam’s turn to kiss Josh, and they pass a pleasant few minutes there before they’re reminded that they’re skinny-dipping and that’s not something everyone wants to see. 

After withstanding a few more minutes in the frigid water, they get out and dry themselves off, climb back into their sweaty clothes and start the walk down. It’s so much easier, and that’s what makes Sam realize how tired he is. Underneath their feet, the gravel crunches as they walk along the side of the road, moving over to make room for cars. The sun is coming at a different angle now, one that bathes everything in buttery golden light, the last of summer lit up and on display. Josh’s hand in his is something special, a privilege he rarely gets to enjoy outside of an apartment, a closed-door office, under the table in a dark restaurant with papers spread out on the table to conceal the real purpose of their meeting. 

Sam's drunk on that freedom. He steps on rocks by the side of the road, balancing his weight on one foot just to see Josh smile. And the pounding of their feet beats out a rhythm, undeniable and solid, like the world is telling him as their journey continues, _You are in love. This is what it feels like._

The thrum of each step against the earth is building into an ache, spreading up Sam’s ankles to his calves, his thighs, his butt. By the time they get back down to the campsite, they’re both shaky-legged, stumbling like newborn deer towards the tent, and they collapse in a pile, laughing, sticky and smelling like pond water. 

“Josh, we should probably get up,” Sam says to the side of his boyfriend's neck, with absolutely no idea if his legs would even work at this moment. 

“Uh-huh,” Josh says unconvincingly. “Hey.” He buries his nose in the hair at the side of Sam’s head, and Sam turns and meets his lips. This time it’s slow and languid, mostly tongue, and it makes heat curl in the pit of Sam’s stomach. It’s been weeks since Sam’s had time to do anything but jerk off in the shower, and the knowledge that they _have time,_ for once, is enough for him to get a little hard, to rearrange himself until Josh’s knee is between his legs and just start rolling his hips with no real intention. 

Josh starts to kiss down his neck and it feels so good, Sam allows it to continue for a few seconds, even with the risk of hickeys becoming more and more imminent. As if Josh can read his mind, he starts moving lower, down to Sam’s collarbones and across his chest. Against Sam’s right leg, he can feel Josh’s own erection, and it sends blood rushing to his head in a dizzying wave. Too long without this, much too long. 

Because of that, when Josh presses his mouth to Sam’s ear and says, low, “I wanna eat you out,” it takes all of Sam’s might to not come in his hiking pants right there and then. Just the thought of Josh’s mouth on him, his tongue _in_ him, short-circuits his brain, and whatever Sam intended to say comes out as an involuntary, frankly obscene moan. 

The grin that Josh has, as he pushes himself up and rakes his hair off from where it was sticking to his forehead, is wicked. “Yeah?” 

Sam’s body rises up at the absence of warmth, and he just nods, enthusiastic, doesn’t trust his mouth for a few seconds. When he manages to connect to his brain again, he clears his throat and says, “It might not be very enjoyable right now, considering that I absolutely reek.” 

“Yeah.” Josh sighs and shifts to his knees, his dick pressing against the fabric of his shorts and making Sam’s mouth water. _God,_ Sam thinks, half-embarrassed by his own enthusiasm but mostly too turned on to care. “We gotta shower. And we gotta make dinner, at some point.” 

“I’ll shower first, then I’ll get a fire going while you clean up.” Sam reluctantly gets into a sitting position as carefully as he can, trying now to cast his mind to anything but the promise of what’s coming so that he can walk to the bathroom and not be arrested for public indecency. Gathering his towel and toiletries, he heads off, silently thanking God that it’s a single-occupancy. 

Once he’s inside, with the door securely locked and a hot shower running the grime from his aching body, Sam thinks of what Josh said and feels his face flush. He might spend a few extra minutes in the shower making sure he’s as clean as possible, using the aftershave Josh likes so much, checking and rechecking that his lube is safely stowed in the toiletry bag with his toothpaste and hairbrush. 

When Sam returns, towelling off his hair, dressed in his softest Princeton Class of ‘90 t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans he’s had since college, Josh has gathered firewood. Piles of small sticks lay next to the logs that came with their site, and Sam is about to be grateful but doesn’t have time to voice it. Josh, practically jogging towards the trail, barely stops to kiss Sam on the cheek before making his own way towards the bathroom, with his towel slung over his shoulder, whistling a cheery tune. Sam can’t suppress his own smile at the thoughts he knows are running through Josh’s head. 

The overbearing metaphor of the fire is not lost on him as he crouches by the fire pit and piles in kindling, then surrounds it with a squared pile of logs. Flames can represent plenty of things, he thinks idly, breaking off a fire-starter and poking it into the middle of the log-cabin. And the fact that desire is often compared to the glow and heat he’s about to create is painfully obvious and even cliche to his writer’s mind. Still, it’s accurate, Sam will admit as he presses the lit match to the lint of the fire-starter and watches it be slowly taken over. The kindling catches much faster, going up in a flash, and as the flames spread he fans them with a lid from a plastic tub until the whole pile is merrily crackling away, contained well within the boundaries of the fire pit. 

Now that he’s satisfied with his work, Sam crawls back inside the tent, leaves the flap open so that he can keep an eye on the fire (though he’s not worried), and reads the same page in his book five times as the sun dips low behind the treeline. His mind is pretty much anywhere but the words in front of his eyes, and at the sound of feet on the path he flings his book aside. In his path of vision, Josh enters the campsite, warms his hands by the fire for a second before heading over to the tent with a big grin on his face. “The fire looks good.” 

“Thanks,” Sam says, uselessly, his eyes roaming Josh’s face, and it only takes a second before his baser desires win out and he blurts, “I can’t wait any longer,” fists his hand in Josh’s sweatshirt and pulls him into the tent. Josh goes, laughing, and Sam could swear his heart swells in his chest at that sound. 

They connect at the mouth as Sam chucks his book to the foot of their sleeping bags. There’s no introduction now, no careful and gentle kissing to start out, just open-mouthed making out, all tongues and teeth clashing, lips slick with spit sliding over each other. Urgent, Sam reaches for the hem of Josh’s shirt and slides his hand under it, with a little difficulty since it’s stuck to his skin from the shower. Meanwhile Josh’s thumb is pressing into Sam’s hipbone as he grips his boyfriend’s side. No space is left between their bodies. Closeness without excuses — what they’d been craving. It goes on for a while, a delicious privilege, for once a moment that they didn’t have to steal. 

“Up for just a sec for me,” Josh murmurs, lifting Sam’s ass with a tighter hold than was strictly necessary and sliding a towel underneath to protect their sleeping bags. 

“Smart,” Sam says breathlessly before he’s back down again. He goes back to kissing his boyfriend in a way that can best be described as “devouring” — a hyperbole he never thought would be appropriate to apply to himself. And kissing Josh has never tasted sweeter than when he’s laughing into Sam’s mouth like he is now. 

Tracing the lines of Josh’s back under his rucked-up t-shirt eventually inspires Sam to tug it until Josh raises his arms and it comes off. “You too, c’mon,” Josh breathes, his eyes bright, gaze heavy on Sam’s torso as it’s revealed and their shirts are quickly balled up and discarded. 

“We were naked together earlier,” Sam points out, stuck somewhere between an impulse to blush and the specific kind of pride he feels at the sight of Josh like this, the knowledge that he made him feel what he’s feeling. 

“That’s different, this is just... God, it’s just so good.” Josh bites his lip and stretches out to gently skim Sam’s face. Sam tilts his head up and shudders at the touch, practically aching and knowing it’s obvious through his jeans. That simple gesture did almost as much as ten minutes of full-on making out. 

Again, Josh leans in and kisses him, and Sam fumbles for the buttons on his pants, struggling for a minute while he tries to keep their mouths together until he succeeds. Then, he allows himself to pull away, licks his palm with his eyes locked to Josh’s and finally, finally pushes beyond the waistband of his boyfriend’s underwear. 

“Oh, my God,” Josh breathes and sits up a little so he’s knelt on the tent’s floor instead of laying on top of Sam, who can’t help but be pleased with himself as he drinks everything in; the light sheen of sweat covering Josh’s chest, the whiteness of his lip where he bites it, the way he tries not to let his hips snap up into Sam’s hand. It’s rare for Josh to be so still and Sam knows it’s only because he’s planning to take Sam apart with his mouth in a few minutes, but nevertheless it’s still something to be appreciated. Right now it’s just them and the sounds of the nature outside, crickets and the crackling fire, and that peace is a striking contrast as he moves his thumb the way Josh likes and watches his boyfriend struggle to keep it together in front of him. 

Soon, Josh grits out, “Sam, you gotta stop or this is all going to be over way before I want it to be.” Taking his hand out of Josh’s pants and wiping it quickly on the towel, Sam's stomach does a little flip of excitement that makes him feel just a bit overeager. “Well, take your pants off,” Josh laughs as he rolls over to zip up the tent’s flap; even though there’s no one else around it’s better safe than sorry. Sam undoes his fly and kicks his pants off maybe faster than he ever has in his life; he tries to not be showy about climbing out of his underwear but the way Josh still stares after however many years it's been carries a weight of significance that he can’t deny. 

“C’mere,” Josh beckons, and gives Sam one more careful kiss before he pulls a pillow over and covers it with the towel that’s been under them. On his stomach, propped up on his elbows, Sam lies down and tries not to grind up against the soft surface; as if he’s read those thoughts, Josh warns, “Hey, if you come on my pillow, we don’t have any extras, so — I’ll steal yours.” Then, a little softer: “You okay? Does that feel good?” A warm hand comes up to rub Sam’s back at the place right before it starts to curve up, assuring. 

Sam almost rolls his eyes. “ _Yes,_ it feels good, of course it feels good, just —“ The rest of his sentence is lost as he suddenly becomes aware of Josh’s face much, much closer to his ass than it had been seconds before. A second of anticipation, where nearly every muscle in Sam’s body is tensed, and then there’s a hot tongue and strong hands on his hips and everything becomes a cacophony of noise to his body. Long and drawn-out, he moans and doesn’t even try to hide it. Being with someone for so long allows you to learn them inside and out, and even if it hadn’t been years since they’d first fallen in love, Josh and Sam have a weird way they seem to know what’s going on in the other’s head, orbiting each other closely but never on a collision course. All of this, Sam thinks hazily, is a roundabout way of saying that Josh knows how much he loves getting eaten out, somehow sensed it the first time he ever tried it, knows how it makes him fall to pieces in a way that never happens otherwise. And Josh loves being able to do that, to deconstruct all of Sam’s defenses in moments. 

After a few minutes or so — Sam’s perception of this is not terribly accurate at the moment — Josh comes up for air, goes into the pocket of his pants for his own lube and then replaces his mouth with two of his fingers. “God, Sam, look at you,” he says, so much lower than his usual voice. 

Sam huffs, a laugh with a hitch in the middle. “I’m a mess,” he says, but doesn’t stop himself from pushing back against Josh’s fingers, even though they’re cold. 

“Yeah, I know.” They can’t make eye contact but Sam can picture the look on Josh’s face, proud and undeniably full of desire. He crooks his fingers and oh, wow, that’s really nice. Sam sighs and writhes on the pillow, his body seeking friction almost of its own accord. “What do you want?” Josh asks, his smirk seeping into his voice. 

“ _Josh,_ ” Sam says, a little annoyed, “come on.” 

“Come on what?” 

“You kn-know what I mean.” He stutters at the sudden feeling of emptiness as Josh draws his fingers back out. 

“I could make you come with my mouth,” Josh says, in a tone much more casual than his words deserve. That sounds like a good option to Sam, pretty much anything sounds like a good option as long as he can have _some_ kind of stimulation. “I know you can come like that. Or I could fuck you.” 

“That, yes, that would be good,” Sam says immediately. 

“Yeah? You want that?” Josh asks, and it really is cheesy, shouldn’t be so hot, but even the most cliche of dirty talk is enough to get Sam moving, taking away the pillow and rolling over on his back. 

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Sam says, and spreads his legs. He doesn’t take it seriously, grinning the whole time as Josh crashes down between them, laughing too. 

It only takes a few seconds of logistical pants-removal and repositioning before Sam tucks his face into Josh’s neck, breathes hard for a few seconds until they’re interlocked. “You okay?” Josh murmurs, so quiet it’s more of a rumble, and Sam nods wordlessly through the fading burn. This closeness is what he’d been craving. So indescribably heady to share breath, a quickening heartbeat, with someone else. 

In contrast to their hasty undressing, this is slow, Josh’s hips rolling in smooth motions, continuous. Sam’s touching himself with no real urgency, just because he knows Josh likes it. Outside of the tent the sounds of evening are getting louder — the gentle crackling of the fire, a hum of the last of the cicadas. These minutes all feel simultaneously long and short, better than the sneaking around of normal life but cruelly limited. 

Sam cants his hips up, trying to help Josh find the right angle to make his nerves sing. Getting fucked is a luxury he can rarely indulge in, but God, he loves it, and he knows how to make it good, wrapping his legs around Josh’s waist, moving in time with his rhythm. As if Josh is reading his mind, he pushes a little deeper and _oh,_ that’s it. Sam’s cock twitches in his hand, trapped between their sweaty stomachs. 

Josh is propped up with his elbows leaning on the towel that covers the tent floor, and it can’t be comfortable but that’s the last thing on either of their minds. One of his hands comes up and touches Sam’s forehead, so gently, then slides back, into his hair, against his scalp, rubs for a few seconds, then closes. A dull pressure envelops Sam’s head as it’s tilted back, and it’s matched by a rush of heat to his abdomen. He tries to keep his mouth closed but a high and almost whining sound makes its way from his throat. 

“Wanna hear you, c’mon, c'mon,” Josh breathes, sweat rolling down his neck. He leans down and presses an open mouth to Sam’s neck, right on the outer boundary of where a shirt collar would fall, then sighs in the sweetest sound Sam’s ever heard, and when his next thrust is dead-on Sam is a little surprised to find himself coming, stars bursting behind his eyelids, a moan escaping mostly into the side of Josh’s head. 

Through the dim haze, as he comes back down to Earth, he can feel Josh pulling out, still hard. “God, Sam, you’re gorgeous,” he says, and Sam flushes pleasantly with the praise, chest heaving. Now it’s Josh’s turn to turn red, his hand slowly moving along himself. “Can I…” He makes a vague gesture with his unoccupied hand, and Sam’s eyes widen, and he barely nods his enthusiastic _yes_ before Josh tips over the edge, head lolled back on his shoulders, on Sam, striping him from his torso to his neck. If Sam was younger it might be enough to make him ready to go again, that feeling of mutual ownership, for once not having to worry about the mess. 

“Fuck,” Josh pants, sits down fully from where he’d been up on his knees. “Just give me a second and we’ll clean you up, okay?” 

Sam nods, sated and smiling and a little shaky from the force of his orgasm. He takes his finger and traces patterns in the mess on his stomach, getting a little thrill again from the evidence of Josh falling apart for him. “This could be a really explicit art piece.” 

“That’s nasty,” Josh observes absently as he lays down next to Sam, pulls his head onto his chest and starts carding a hand through his hair. Sam could start purring from how happy he is. 

It doesn’t last, of course, but thankfully Josh’s absence from Sam’s bed at this moment isn’t due to needing to go home so they don’t suspiciously show up to work together — it’s just to wet a washcloth from the tap outside. With a light touch he cleans off Sam’s stomach, pausing just to kiss him and savor the ease of it. They break apart but keep the eye contact silently, just smiling at each other like a pair of idiots with love written on their face in large print. 

“One day maybe we’ll be able to do this all the time,” Sam says. Even as it comes out of his mouth he knows it’s his optimistic side again, the one he’d been getting flack for since law school. But some part of him inside keeps that ember burning bright, if only for the possibility of a life filled with golden days like these. 

Josh laughs, not unkindly. “Yeah. Maybe if we’re lucky.” 

“We’ve been pretty damn lucky so far.” Sam takes Josh’s palm and kisses it, letting his gaze flit away. “Finding each other. Getting it right.” 

A silence, and Sam realizes that he just said something utterly more significant than he’d been thinking of it. 

“You think?” Josh says, measured, careful. 

There’s no point in trying to hold it back now, so Sam just says, simple and plain, “You’re the only one, Josh. You always have been. The day I realized I loved you…” He shrugs. “I never had a chance.” 

In Josh’s eyes, there’s some kind of soft look, the kind Sam’s only seen him have when he thinks no one else is watching. “I don’t want any chance other than you.” 

There’s really nothing Sam can do other than kiss him. 

“So, yeah, we’ve been pretty lucky so far,” Sam says quietly, smiling, rests his forehead against Josh’s. “Meeting, and working together, and then you coming to get me… and now this. Maybe it’ll keep up.” 

“I bet it will,” Josh whispers, and his hand finds Sam’s wrist and closes around it, brings it to his chest like it’s something precious. “I can just tell, like I could about Bartlet and like I can about you. It’s one of those things, you know, and I haven’t been wrong yet.” He smiles with just the corner of his mouth. "Someday we can have this, no hiding, no sneaking around like we’re doing something _wrong_ , just… you and me.” 

In a few moments the conversation will devolve into more fantastical plans, with Sam as president and Josh as his chief of staff, with expanded health care and free college and all kinds of other pipe dreams, but as Sam drifts off that night, sleepy from the sex and the hot dogs and s'mores they’d nearly burnt over the fire, he’s only thinking of a smaller aspect of the future. When they wake up in the morning, tangled around each other, the lining of the sleeping bag damp with dew, Sam knows as his first thought that he’d trade presidential power away in the blink of an eye for a life where he can sleep in Josh’s arms every night, whether it’s in the White House residence or in a cramped tent with aching muscles and the clearest head he’s had in weeks. Anything else that the future holds can be conquered with the hope of that one constant burning brightly inside him, like a guiding light, Josh there to steer him true in everything he does.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this fic, please let me know as it was my first time posting anything x-rated! comments and kudos give me the validation i so desperately crave so consider leaving one if you feel like it :~) i'm also on tumblr [@seaborns](https://seaborns.tumblr.com) so if you want to yell about josh and sam there, feel free!


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